


Damn the Torpedoes

by qwerty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Comment Fic, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/pseuds/qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's pissed about losing a football match. Everything has an opinion on the matter, but Merlin's going to ignore them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn the Torpedoes

Merlin picked up his heaviest textbook and slammed it on the thin wall twice, wincing a little as he did but taking a certain satisfaction in the deep thumps that reverberated stingingly through his palms. "Some of us need to study, football head!" he yelled when the only answer was another shouted "Fucking cheaters!" and a slamming closet door.

He patted his textbook and the wall apologetically while they joined the furniture in the next room in bemoaning their ill-usage and tragic existences, and pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off the incipient headache at the continued bangs and thumps (and resultant whining) that came through loud and clear, no thanks to the colluding wall. Merlin took a deep breath, and tried again. "Oh please, it was just a stupid friendly game! Stop being such a bad sport about it!"

The heavy stamping sounds made Merlin's feet twinge in sympathy at first. Then Pendragon's door rattled and stuck for a bit (a minor attempt at rebellion) before slamming open, and when the stamping came and stopped at his door, Merlin started to seriously wonder if agreeing to share a flat with the infamously difficult Pendragon heir for the low rent was going to be on record as the last bad decision Merlin would make in his tragically short life.

Merlin waited, shivering with tension while the door told him that Pendragon was just breathing hard and standing there for now, and promising it would hold him off as much as possible. If he tried anything... Merlin didn't know what he would do.

That is, he'd worked out a quick and simple defence that would not be too obviously magical - a line of force to trip Pendragon if he did kick the door in, a blackout charm on his abused textbook to whack the nutter (lightly) on his head while he lay defenceless on the ground, and then he could run out to call for help or, or something. But afterwards...

He couldn't afford alternative accommodations.

It had been quiet outside too long. He'd only been here a month. He didn't know much, or anything about Pendragon, really, but he'd been an all right sort of flatmate apart from being an arrogant sort of prat and too fond of the sound of his own voice for the most part, and he tolerated Merlin stumbling over his things and breaking crockery while blundering about and muttering to the air half-awake in the mornings. "Are you ok?" Merlin asked. 

There was a slow, even exhale of someone trying hard to let go of their anger. Merlin approached the door warily, still holding his charmed book in case Pendragon had a sudden fit and kicked the door down after all.

"I'm... fine. Sorry." He sounded tired, but not very sorry. "Fuck them."

Merlin cracked open the door and peeked out at Pendragon. He was leaning beside the door, staring up at the hall light, which would explain his watery eyes, but really, he wasn't fooling anyone. If the man hadn't been so hot, Merlin suspected he would have been a lot less sympathetic and concerned, but Pendragon _was_ ridiculously blond and blue-eyed and fit, so that was a moot point. Merlin lowered his book and came out fully. "Hey. Anything I can do to help?"

Pendragon tracked his careful movements with narrowed eyes, but did not otherwise give any sign as to whether his approach was welcome. 

Then, as Merlin started to raise a hand to his shoulder, he found their positions abruptly reversed, with his back to the wall and Pendragon's arms framing him, too fast for Merlin to think of a response, verbal or magical.

"You could help," Pendragon said, very quiet and intent, so close that Merlin felt the "help" as a delicate brush of warmth on his lips. "Do you want to?"

_"Do you want to?"_

The words hung in the breaths between them, and seriously, seriously, if Pendragon hadn't provided such heavy duty eye-candy what with walking around the flat half-naked at all hours of the day, Merlin would have moved into a box under a bridge before the end of the first week, so while he would have smacked anyone else being such a creep over the head with his trusty textbook at this point, he had to actually stop to debate with himself over whether this was a) A Bad Idea But Have You Seen That Chest; or b) A Terrible Horrible Very Bad No Good Idea But Look At His Sad Puppy Eyes and apparently he was stupidly weak against sad puppy eyes because he'd dropped his book and swayed forward while deliberating and-

Pendragon was pushing him back against the wall and kissing him, or more like sucking the air from his lungs while the book muttered about his weak will and the battered furniture all expressed shocked disapproval - these sorts of activities should be carried out in one of the beds, they thought - but he couldn't bring himself to care when Pendragon was sucking greedily at his tongue and had grabbed his bum to hold him in place and rub against him.

He shut out his awareness of the mutterings and let his focus narrow to returning the favour, hooking a leg around Pendragon's to help pull them closer together. His hands - where were his hands, right, he was hanging on to Pendragon's neck with one, but that left one patting Pendragon's back like an idiot. So he moved it to Pendragon's firm, rounded bum instead.

As if electrified by the touch, Pendragon pulled off him suddenly, leaving him gasping and shocked for a moment. "Still yes?"

Merlin managed to retain enough presence of mind to refrain from answering, "but I never said yes!" and simply nodded dumbly, then Pendragon hefted him up and dropped him on the (distantly grumbling) bed, and jumped up after him before he managed to even bounce once.

It would have been easy to just lie back and let Pendragon have his way with his neck (apparently very tasty) and grope him under his rucked-up shirt (the buttons were going to give way any time now, wholly in self-defence), but it would also have been a tragic waste of a beautiful opportunity. While Pendragon was distracted (and very distracting), Merlin fumbled at Pendragon's jeans and finally wrested them open with a little cooperation, and when he got his hand on Pendragon's very hot, very hard cock, sliding over the pre-come-slicked foreskin, Pendragon growled and simply dragged his (helpfully) loose trousers and pants down to his knees and slotted their bodies together like this was how they were always meant to be.

"I want to fuck you," Pendragon was rasping against his ear as he rocked his hips bruisingly into Merlin's, keeping him pressed into the mattress, but it was clearly just wishful thinking, because in the next instant, he was coming in hot spurts all over Merlin's belly and crotch, and somehow he retained enough presence of mind to grab Merlin's cock and hold it as Merlin muffled his shout in Pendragon's shoulder and came too.

Pendragon fell half-off him and they both collapsed where they were, ignoring the wet splatters soaking into the sheets between them and panting.

As the post-sex haze faded, Merlin found himself staring awkwardly at the ceiling, increasingly self-conscious about the uncomfortable and quite ridiculous state of his clothes. What had this been about for Pendragon? Just opportunistic sex to work off his frustration? Why Merlin, why now? And... what now?

He started to raise himself on his elbows to try to sit up and get dressed, but had barely pulled his arm from under Pendragon's ominously silent dead weight when Pendragon gave a great flop again and rolled over, flattening Merlin under him. "What?" he wheezed out as Pendragon's full weight forced all the air out of him with a _whoosh_.

"Come to my next match," Pendragon said quietly, face turned away from him.

Merlin blinked, wheezed, and blinked some more. "What?"

"Next week. Come to my match."

Merlin stared at the unreadable back of Pendragon's fluffy blond head. "I hate football," he said, stupidly. "Everyone knows I hate football."

Without looking at him, Pendragon slapped the top of his head. "Come. You can wear a disguise if you don't want anyone to see you there."

That didn't resolve anything, but he said, "ok," since Pendragon seemed so insistent on it. "Um. Pendragon. Can I..." he waved the hand attached to the arm Pendragon was lying on, trying to indicate the mess that was going to glue them together in a disgusting crusty mess.

Pendragon somehow seemed to understand, and fumbled at his nightstand briefly before dropping a pack of wet wipes on Merlin. "You deal with it," he said, managing to sound lordly and commanding even though Merlin knew they were both in equally shameful, sticky dishabille. "And call me Arthur."

The furniture and wet wipes cooed at them.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: Bradley/Arthur is angry after losing Soccer6 and his temper won't cool down even after arriving home to his flat that night. Maybe he's yelling obscenities to himself. Someone knocks on his door to ask him if there's anything they can do. You can pick who it is. Or it can happen on the bus/train ride home if you prefer it that way.


End file.
